The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (24 page)

~

Falcon
glanced at the Duke of Glenbroke when a knock sounded at their private room of White’s, interrupting their chess match.

The young duke shrugged his enormous shoulders and then looked toward the door, saying, “Enter.”

But rather than a footman delivering a message as Falcon had expected, the fair figure of the Marquis Shelton stood in the door.

“Sorry to disturb you,” the marquis said, closing the door, fully aware as were the other members of the
ton
that they were never to be disturbed while enjoying their weekly match.

“I assume it is important?” Falcon asked, turning in his chair.

Ian Shelton was a powerful man, not only physically but mentally, and Falcon silently approved of the close friendship between these two young men.

“Yes.” The marquis sat in one of the vacant chairs and looked at him. “I believe that it is.”

“Well,” the duke demanded.

“I came to tell you about my fascinating weekend.”

Ian St. John smiled at the duke, who rolled his eyes, saying, “A bachelor should never tell a married man of his exploits, particularly ‘fascinating’ exploits.”

“Ah, but this one, I think, will be of interest to our lordship as much as to you, Your Grace.”

Falcon raised a brow, intrigued, “Do tell us of your weekend, Shelton.”

“It began with a journey to the estate of Lord Harrington.”

“The bastard who ruined Juliet Pervill?” the duke growled as Ian leaned forward and handed Falcon his invitation.

“ ‘A meeting of the minds’?” Falcon asked, both of them ignoring the duke entirely. “What on earth does that mean?”

“Exactly what I wanted to know.”

“And did you find out?” Falcon asked.

The marquis raised both blond brows. “I’m not sure. We were shown into the drawing room before dinner and told by Harrington that the purpose of his coordinating the ‘first of many’ gatherings”—it was Falcon’s turn to raise a brow—“was for influential members of society to come together to discuss in a comfortable environment the issues facing our great nation.”

“What did you discuss?” the duke asked, curious.

“Everything from Napoleon to surplus corn crops.”

Falcon thought for a moment and then asked, “And how did Harrington appear?”

“Very interested”—the marquis met his eye—“which was rather odd since he has not attended a single session of Parliament for as long as I have been a member.”

“I’ve never seen him either,” the duke confirmed.

“But that is not all,” Shelton said, “When I went to my room, I found a pretty little chambermaid waiting to warm my bed.” Falcon waited. “Talkative little thing, Mira, wanted to know all about me and the House of Lords as she removed my trousers.”

“Sacrificed yourself for your country, did you, Ian?” The duke smiled, stealing a glance in Falcon’s direction.

“Good God, no.” The marquis laughed. “I could hear the girl’s sex clapping the moment I entered the room.”

“A professional woman?” Falcon elicited an opinion.

“From the way she moved, I’ve no doubt of it,” Ian said.

“But why so talkative?”

“Good question,” the duke asked.

“I’ll have Lord Harrington investigated, this chambermaid, too. Mira, you said the girl’s name was.”

“Mira,” Shelton confirmed. “Brown hair, midnight blue eyes, and a birthmark on her right breast.”

The duke raised a brow, adding a sardonic grin. “Laboring hard for the cause of freedom?”

“You know me, Your Grace,” the marquis said. “Anything for the crown.”

“It is not your crown falling off that I’m worried about.” The duke laughed and Falcon chuckled. “More in the vicinity of the family jewels, I should think.”

As the marquis glared at his powerful friend, his lips remaining firmly closed, Falcon’s mind returned to the reason Ian St. John had called.

“ ‘A meeting of the minds’?” Falcon mused as if their conversation had never strayed.

The only question was, whose was the mind behind Lord Harrington’s meeting? And what did that mind want to know?

~

Enigma
stood with arms outstretched when the door to Madame Maria’s was flung open with a violent ringing of the bell above the modiste shop door.

She turned to look at the offensive interruption as the woman ordered her footmen to remain outside. Madame Maria jotted down the last measurement she had taken of Enigma’s trim waist before bobbing her head.

“Excuse me, Madame Richard.” Maria’s words were forced by a vulgar Italian intonation as if the sounds were fermented deep within her belly.

Enigma gave a nod of consent for the modiste’s departure and then she turned to look at the woman who had disturbed them.

The girl was certainly small to be so loud and her English lineage could clearly be seen in her fair skin and clear blue eyes. She might even at some point be called pretty, given a few more years on the vine.

“Buongiorno, Madame Maria,” the girl said and Enigma lowered her arms, sensing a lengthy and meaningless conversation.

“Good afternoon, Lady Juliet.”

Enigma’s head snapped round, giving the girl a second look. This was the woman the brilliant Seamus McCurren had been bedding?

Unbelievable!

“Yes, good afternoon, Madame Maria,” Lady Juliet said and then turned to her and apologized. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your fitting.”

Enigma smoothed down the tight silk on what she knew to be an exceptional figure. “Take all the time you need, my dear,” Enigma replied, meaning every word. “I’m in no hurry.”

The girl turned back to the modiste to hasten their exchange. “I was wondering if I might see your last month’s advertisements?” Maria’s brows asked the question for her and Lady Juliet explained, “There was a beautiful gown that I was considering purchasing in one of your advertisements but I cannot seem to remember which paper—”

“Ah,
sì
.” Madame Maria handed Lady Juliet a stack of newspapers and then walked over to Enigma to finish taking her measurements.

“Madame Maria, who writes the adverts for your gowns?”

“I hire a skinny man at the paper.” The modiste continued taking measurements while Enigma stood watching Lady Juliet from the corner of her eye.

The girl nodded and she looked down, her mouth moving as she read. But it was not until Lady Juliet’s finger began to stab at the pages of newsprint that Enigma realized what the woman was doing.

She was counting.

Enigma stared more closely, reading the girl’s lips as Lady Juliet counted to ten, over and over again. The lady turned the page and continued to count, her eyes getting closer to the words as she concentrated on them.

And then the girl smiled, and deep within the woman’s intelligent eyes, Enigma saw her allure to Seamus McCurren.

Her heart was beating with excitement at being this close to being detected, this close to a woman capable of doing so.

“Madame Maria makes lovely gowns, does she not?” Enigma could not help speaking with a woman as gifted as she.

Lady Juliet looked up as though unsure if the question was addressed to her. “Yes, they are very beautiful.” The girl smiled, adding, “Might I keep these?” to the busy modiste.

Madame Maria shrugged, delighted by the compliment. “Certainly, take as many adverts as you wish.”

“Thank you so very much, Madame Maria.” Juliet grinned triumphantly and, being a well-bred English lady, turned to Enigma and said, “Good day.”

“Good day.” She smiled, adding, “Lady Juliet Pervill, was it not?”

“Yes.” The girl stopped on the threshold of the door, stunned. “I’m sorry, but have we been introduced?” she asked and Enigma respected her even more.

“No, my name is Madame Richard,” Enigma said pleasantly. “And perhaps now that we have been introduced, we shall meet again?”

“Yes, perhaps we shall.” Lady Juliet met her eye before turning to leave and saying, “Thank you again, Madame Maria.”

The door closed and Enigma grinned, contemplating what use she would make of this information and more importantly . . . what use she would make of Juliet Pervill.

≈

“Mister Habernathy, you’ve no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Juliet.” James Habernathy smiled, pleased to see her again. “Where is your guard?” he asked, confused.

“I left them on the front steps, but I don’t have time to explain.” She walked to Seamus’s desk and riffled through his papers. “I think I may have identified our French cryptographer.”

“Really?” Mister Habernathy looked stunned.

“Yes.” Juliet tried not to be annoyed at his surprise of her intellectual ability. “And the last thing I need at the moment is two footmen following me about. I need to verify a few things before I present my findings to Falcon or I shall never be reinstated with the Foreign Office.”

“Oh, yes, I see.” Mister Habernathy nodded. “It wouldn’t do to make an error, and if you will forgive me for saying so, Lady Juliet, I thought it rather unfair that you had been dismissed at all.”

Juliet’s hands stilled and she stopped herself from crying. “Why no, Mister Habernathy, I don’t mind your saying so at all.” Her loyal secretary blushed and Juliet eased his embarrassment. “Now, we have two hours to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“For our meeting with the architect of the E code.”

≈

“I think I’ve identified our cryptographer.” Seamus stared at the Duke of Glenbroke and then Falcon, having located them in a private room at White’s.

“Thank you, Mister McCurren, but I am afraid that we already know who the man is.” Falcon moved a pawn and, without looking up, said, “Lord Harrington was found dead in his town home from an overdose of laudanum not three hours ago. While the blackguard’s death is not surprising to anyone who knew him, it was the unfortunate mauling of his solicitor by two dogs that rather convinced me.”

“His solicitor is dead?” Seamus asked, horrified.

“Oh, yes torn to pieces on the steps of his front door.” Falcon sighed. “Unnecessary that, although the solicitor’s death does suggest his complicity in the matter of Lord Harrington’s collaboration.”

“We also have information pertaining to several weekend gatherings where prominent gentlemen were asked to discuss their views on the political direction in which Britain is heading.”

Seamus shook his head. “I’m sorry but you have made a mistake about Lord Harrington.”

“What makes you think so?” The duke’s eyes had sharpened to steel.

“A little more than a month ago, Lord Harrington lost his town home during a card game to Lord Pervill.”

“Yes, Mister McCurren, we know all that,” the old man said impatiently.

Seamus continued, undeterred. “What you may not know is the name of the establishment where the transfer took place. A well-respected gaming hell by the name of Dante’s Inferno.”

“I know of it.” The duke nodded.

Seamus cleared his throat, having difficulty admitting the remainder of the details. “I, myself, am a frequent visitor of that particular hell as the hell’s proprietor, a one Mister Lucas Youngblood, provides the only gaming challenge for me in town.”

“Go on,” Falcon said, understanding Seamus’s need for intellectual stimulation.

“Several weeks ago, I was a patron at Dante’s alongside Lord Harrington.” Seamus snorted. “If Mister Youngblood was an equal match for me, then Lord Harrington would have been a sitting duck.”

“Meaning?” The duke wanted clarification.

“Meaning . . .” Falcon took over his enlightenment. “Mister Youngblood fleeced the fool and made off with Harrington’s estate.”

“No doubt solicitors were involved in the transfer of property, which would explain why both Harrington and his solicitor have been made conveniently dead.”

“Yes, I sent round a representative of the Foreign Office to interview Lord Harrington’s solicitor just yesterday.”

“Imagine the amount of information flowing through Dante’s.” Seamus glanced from one man to the other. “From blackmail, to drunkenness, to the secrets whispered to attentive whores.”

The duke stared at Falcon, uncomfortable with the infinite and disastrous possibilities.

“I’ll send my men to seize Dante’s Inferno straight away.” Falcon said.

Seamus nodded. “I’ll be in my office looking over my files to see if I can prove my supposition.”

The duke rose, ending the conversation. “And I will speak with the prime minister.”

~

It
was two o’clock in the afternoon and Dante’s Inferno was empty.

Enigma finished writing a missive to the emperor and then sealed the letter with her symbol of black wax arrows. She tucked the priceless piece of information in her reticule and moved on to other matters.

“Have you transferred the money as I’ve specified, Mister Matthews?”

“Yes, Madame Richard.” Her accountant bobbed his head like a frightened turtle. “Everything was transferred precisely as you instructed.”

“Excellent, Mister Matthews, because it is a great deal of money and if I for one moment believed that you were embezzling—”

“Oh, no, Madame Richard! I would never do such a thing,” her accountant protested, and as she looked into his dull little eyes, she believed him.

“You shall accompany us to Hyde Park, where you will move your luggage to a coach that is traveling to Scotland as previously arranged.” And then she turned to Mister Matthews as if she had just remembered. “You’ve taken care of the other matter, I am sure?”

“Yes.” The man bobbed again, “The profitability of Dante’s Inferno made the business of insuring the establishment rather straightforward. We had several gentlemen, regular patrons of Dante’s, who were more than pleased to provide the protection requested.”

“Excellent work, Mister Matthews.” Enigma smiled brilliantly and the accountant blushed at her attention. “Oh, and tell Mister Collin that I wish to speak with him before we depart.”

Her accountant left and within minutes the satisfying Mister Collin was opening her office door. Smiling, she walked toward him, her hand sliding over his taut buttocks the moment she touched him.

“Are you ready to set up shop elsewhere, darling, or are you still angry with me about Youngblood?” Mister Collin smiled and she allowed him to kiss her, caress her, before she dislodged herself from his arms, saying, “I shall be waiting for you in the carriage when you have finished in here.”

Enigma walked out the front door of Dante’s Inferno for the last time with absolutely no regrets. She had made an enormous amount of money, and with this last exchange of British secrets with the French, she would be able to retire a very rich woman.

But Enigma knew that she would not.

She was addicted to the game of making money off men who underestimated her and of making love to men who did not. It was a perfect life for a woman such as she, but inevitably every game came to an end so that another might begin.

Enigma settled onto the squabs in her landau next to her accountant and opposite her front man, Mister Youngblood.